If the Dead Could Speak
by spygurl
Summary: What does Airy Cloak have in common with the new kid? A lot more than you'd expect. With unknown powers, they have to figure out how to cope with their gifts together. Unraveling several mysteries and finding a little romance on the way, they'll meet many new characters, dead and alive who need the two.


**Background Info: Claire moved to Australia. No one really knows why. . . . Enjoy!**

Chapter 1: New Student

As I pulled open my locker in the hallway of Lincoln High School, I frantically struggled to keep all my notebooks, textbooks, and leftover snacks I kept for sneaking in history class, and whatever else I had stuffed in there from crashing to the filthy hallway floor. Today was definitely not my day. With three tests in math, science, and history, getting stepped on all over the hall repeatedly, and receiving a not so hot grade on a geometry assignment, frankly, I was a little overwhelmed. High school differed drastically from middle school—more tests, getting walked on in the hallways by a thousand more people, and legit psycho teachers. But there wasn't really anything I could do about it, so I just sighed and collected the necessary supplies for English.

English class was one of the highlights of my day and one of my favorite subjects. I could read Shakespeare's poetic influential writing all day without a care in the world. See, I, Airy Cloak, was the type of girl who didn't go to parties, but read a book under the shade of a willow tree in my backyard. I have straight black hair parted across my face so that you can usually only see one eye. Pale complexion makes my emerald green eyes pop and sparkle in the sunlight. My style consists into black leather jackets over rock band T-shirts and headphones that rests on my shoulders, and a gold chain necklace that I found burried in the forest. Even though many presume I'm goth, I'm not; just poetic.

So I turned around to step into the hallway, I bumped into a sophomore. Dressed in all black accompanied by a gold chain necklace that looked extremely similar to mine, I had never seen him before. With these dreamy hazel eyes I could melt in to, jet black hair, and skin as white as mine, he looked just as surprised as I was.

"Sorry," we both muttered in unison. I dont know if it was my imagination, but without warning, our necklaces slightly elevated, as if magnetically connected. Then, shooting me a cute half-smile, he said, "See you around."

Blushing of embarrassment, I responded, "Yeah." We looked at each other a moment more before turning the opposite ways and walking to class. _Wow, _I noted as I stumbled into English class, _he's so hot. Well, who am I kidding, he's frackin gorgeous! But the necklace thing was really queer; I wonder if he noticed it._

"Airy, what do you think Shakespeare was trying to convey in act 2, scene 3 of _Romeo and Juliet_? Airy?" Mrs. Morgan inquired the spacey student with a concerned look. It wasn't like me to zone out during discussions of literature.

"Sorry, what?" I asked, startled, after my friend Sarabeth nudged me.

"What do you think the meaning of act 2, scene 3 in _Romeo and Juliet_ was?" Mrs. Morgan repeated, eyebrows raised. Normally, Mrs. Morgan would give the student that disappointed look and giver her 'you should have been listening, young lady/man' speech but I was one of her best pupils. The only emotion displayed on her face was surprise.

"Oh, um, I don't know. Sorry," I murmured, still kind of dazed. Mrs. Morgan cocked her head in a confused manor for a minute, clearly perplexed at my lack of her normal enthusiasm and advocacy.

After surveying the rest of the class, the teacher began to explain, "Friar is basically saying that men are both inherently good and evil. It is just like the old saying "The path to Hell is paved in good intentions". Although one may MEAN well, sometimes it ends..." She went on, but I just couldn't concentrate.

I just couldn't get the incident out of my head! Maybe the necklaces were created with some magnetic chemical, I mean what other explanation could there be? Plus, he was pretty good-looking. With his astral eyes and that darn cute half-smile of his and . . . "Airy?" Sarabeth lightly elbowed her, eyebrows raised. "Time to go. Are you okay?"

"What? Sorry, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired, that's all," I quickly sputtered. Commencing assembling my belongings, I noticed that everyone had already left. Sarabeth gave me a quizzical look before shrugging and converging her stuff too. As we shuffled out of the classroom, Mrs. Morgan stopped me. Oh, great.

"Are you feeling okay? You seemed a little distracted this morning," she said in a worried tone, eyebrows furrowed.

"Sorry about that; I just um . . . didn't eat breakfast today," I hastily improvised. I felt kind of guilty lying her favorite teacher (one of which who _wasn't_ insane). I just decided to pay extra attention tomorrow to compensate.

"Well, you really should, ya know. It's the fuel for the body," Mrs. Morgan smiled at me.

"Okay," I smiled back as she departed. I was so glad she was on her teacher's good side. There are advantages to being the teacher's pet.

Rapidly, I bolted into the abandoned hallway into the next class, art, just before the bell rang. Like English, art was the class to express myself, but instead of books and writing, abstract splatter paintings and designs substituted. Abstract was contradistinct from painting bowls of fruit; it expressed the artist's feelings and emotions rather than showing the exact appearance of people and things. It represents the nonrepresentable, defines the indefinable, describes the indescribable. It's another language, really.

So after a few minutes of working on a project, Mr. Golf finally stepped into the classroom and began his usual announcements. They always went something like this: Well hello class. I think my wife is avoiding me. Yesterday, she took a stool in the shower and today it's the fridge. Ya know, personally I'm a little offended . . ." and he just droned on and on with the abnormal stories of his wife and then rattled off about the warts on his left pinky toe and how he named the big one Arnold. Sometimes I worry about him.

Since he usually didn't have any real news, I didn't bother listening. Abruptly, an explosion of whispers erupted around me. "Oh my gosh, who's that?" "Is that the new kid?" "Dibs!"

Baffled, I eyed my peers who were all goggling ahead. Glancing ahead, my jaw almost dropped so low I was sure I would start drooling any second. "Well, class, we have a new student."

**So what'd you think? Review please!**


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